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Idle Hands

I don’t do well sitting still. My default is multi-tasking. I can sit in a car quietly for approximately five minutes before I either pull out my phone or start playing 20 (uninvited) questions with P. I have Silly Putty at my desk for when I’m on long conference calls. During the early morning hours, I toss and turn in bed causing Patrick to frequently quote Adam Sandler from Big Daddy, “Stay asleep. Sit still. Lay!”

So when Patrick decided to do our taxes last night, I knew I would have to find some way to entertain myself.

The tax man. Looks like a blast.

Let’s linger for a moment on the fact that Patrick already filed our taxes. On January 31. I received my W2 at work yesterday. He loves filing taxes. And it is one of the reasons I married the man. When it was just up to me in previous years, I was that person who all of a sudden realized it was April 14th and hoped that the Turbo Tax server wouldn’t crash.

I walked in the door last night to find P already surrounded by W2s, student loan interest reports, and other apparently necessary documents that remain unknown to me. There was no breaking his concentration, so I just added my form to the pile and sat down next to him on the couch. I flipped through the channels. Asked Quinton about his day. Answered a few client emails that had found their way into my inbox during my ten minute commute home. Then my foot started to tap and my hands started to twitch. What to do now? I had plenty of options. To start, my suitcase with three days worth of clothes sat untouched next to my closet just begging to be unpacked. Instead, I walked in the opposite direction to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I saw P has purchased some more “stick” butter (as opposed to “tub” butter). I saw my Kitchen Aid looking lonely at the end of the counter. My idle hands went into autopilot.

The kicker is that during my idle hands detour to the Devil’s workshop, I received several texts from my mom and aunt about healthy substitutes they are now integrating into their diet. Ironic, yes. Accompanying the texts from my mother were photos of Coconut Crystals and Agave Nectar. Say what? My aunt has fully embraced Paleo; something I don’t even know how to pronounce, let alone give up my cookies for. However, I have a sneaking suspicion I will feel guilted, I mean persuaded, into trying the Agave Nectar during the next visit to my parents’ house. Not the Coconut Crystals. I don’t do coconut. Or crystals for that matter.

Upon completion of cookie baking, taste testing, bowl licking and kitchen clean up, P still remained completely engrossed in our finances. I forced my hands to my laptop’s keyboard instead of breaking out the boxed brownies hiding in the back of the cupboard. The Freshman Fifteen is a common phenomenon. I fear there is a similar Newlywed Nine. Nine sounds a lot less terrifying than nineteen, so that is what I’m going with. Especially when your husband has an obsession with his Big Green Egg and your personal skills are limited to recipes with at least a cup of butter. C’est la vie.

Libby~cookies look delish! I twitch too when sitting in front of the TV
abstracting myself from some car race, car auction, etc. chosen by Bill.
Try Criptoquip or a crossword puzzle. Great for passing time and
engaging your mind. xo martha